


An art of unbearable sensations

by Rysler



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Ass Play, Bisexuality, Canon Lesbian Character, Diplomacy, Disturbingly Heteronormative, F/F, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Indra is there, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, OT3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, incompatible orientation, phallic, the entire time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rysler/pseuds/Rysler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa, Bellamy, and Clarke must have sex in order to codify the treaty between the Arkers and the Grounders. A ceremonial glass dildo is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An art of unbearable sensations

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vague canon world where the Mountain Men weren't the Big Bad, but most angst remains intact. Read the tags, guys. This is the 100, things get weird and sad sometimes. Mostly fluff/PWP.

The tent stank of incense. Clarke stood the center, looking dubiously at the dildo.

It was made of glass that shown in the torchlight. Basilides held it aloft ceremoniously. Mostly smooth, but realistic, at least from what she knew, with balls attached, and with ripples that added texture. 

Circumcision had gone out of vogue nearly a hundred years ago. This relic was obviously a precursor. 

She wondered if Bellamy followed the traditions or not. She tried not to glance at his crotch.

Instead she looked at Lexa, who looked… fucking proud.

“Are you sure this is necessary, L— _heda_?”

“Of course, Clarke. We would not create such an elaborate ritual just as a joke.”

 _But my mom is here_.

Abby stood near the exit flap of the tent, looking for all the world like she wanted to flee. Raven stood next to her, unbearably smug. There were ten people total in the room. Five people from each clan. Eight more than Clarke thought were necessary if she were going to do this.

“Are you ready, Clarke?” Lexa asked.

Damn that Lexa’s voice was liquid gold running down the back of Clarke’s neck. She squeezed her eyes shut for just a second. “Yeah.”

Someone giggled. _Fucking Raven_.

Indra was the one to kneel before Clarke and undo her breeches. Like that wasn’t awkward. Clarke had been fitted with the harness, clean and modern for a dirty and old-fashioned tribe. She didn’t want to ask. Indra took the ‘peace stick’ and fitted it through the metal hoop, its testicles blocking it from slipping through. It protruded transparently from her crotch, still dancing with firelight, and Indra took it into her mouth.

“Fuck,” Clarke said. “What is that about?”

Lexa was calm. “She must prepare it. As my second, that is her role.”

Clarke tried not to _enjoy_ the slightly slurpy sounds Indra made, or the way her cock— _peace stick, peace stick_ now glistened.

“Bellamy,” Lexa gestured.

“Whoa, whoa.” He held up his hands.

“Did Basilides not inform you?” Lexa asked.

“Yeah, but like… like… “ He gestured vaguely.

She pulled aside the fold of her floor-length skirt at the slit. “I am ready, Bellamy of the Sky People.”

Bellamy glanced at Abby, and then at Basilides, and then at anyone who wasn’t Clarke, and knelt on the ceremonial pillow. He licked his lips.

Another thing for Clarke to try not to enjoy. She imagined Lexa’s scent already, musky and wooded. She imagined Bellamy’s hot tongue. She imagined Lexa’s moan—

Oh wait, that was real. Clarke stole a glance at her, startled that Lexa was also looking straight at her. Their eyes met. Heat rushed to Clarke’s face.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this. The two of them, not the ten of them. She and Lexa had made love half-a-dozen times as their friendship grew into an alliance. Mostly gentle, one time rough—That’s what Clarke was remembering now, how Lexa had fucked her—and now she had to reciprocate. 

Somehow the signing of a treaty required it. Something about hostage fostering and intermarrying and so on. Instead of those archaic systems that Clarke had never actually heard of, there was, in this modern age, just the ritual fucking. The simulated fucking, really, which again, Lexa assured her had nothing to do with being women and all to do with the object itself. Clarke did not want to imagine it with Anya or with whatever men had been commanders in the past and where it might have gone. Only a hundred years had passed and surely those first few years weren’t magically born with strange social customs…

So maybe Lexa had invented it. The thought was oddly comforting. She wiped her hands on her pants. 

“Everyone out. Not you, Bellamy,” Lexa said, as he drew back.

Six people left. Indra stood. She grabbed Bellamy by the ear and dragged him up, too.

“Are you, um, prepared?” Clarke asked.

_Are you wet for me?_

“Yes, Clarke,” Lexa said.

“Great.”

So there was a bed, at least. A mattress on top of a wooden frame, large enough for the both of them, covered in furs. It looked nice. Cozy. 

“So…”

Lexa took a position with her back to the bed, facing Clarke. She was smirking. Something danced in her eyes. 

This was too weird for delight. 

Clarke shook herself. “So I just stick it in?”

“Yes, Clarke,” said Lexa, grasping Clarke’s shoulders. “You just stick it in.” 

She kissed Clarke, hard and exciting and thankfully ordinary. Clarke held onto her, trying not to worry about the thing protruding between them, and sank into the kiss. Lexa pushed Clarke’s shirt up and off, and then they resumed kissing. Clarke reached for Lexa’s buckles but Lexa shooed her. So Clarke settled for cupping Lexa’s breast, pressing her thumb into it, and making Lexa squeak. 

Not Lexa.

Clarke broke the kiss and looked around.

Bellamy had squeaked. He now looked at the ceiling, his adams apple bobbing up and down. Clarke couldn’t help it. She looked at his crotch. His pants tented out. 

Clarke spared a look at Indra. Indra met her gaze. Freaking scary, but not lustful. 

Lexa was also looking at Bellamy. And she was smiling.

“It was a trick,” Clarke said. “You—“

“I swear, Clarke, I didn’t—“ Bellamy started.

She lifted her hand to stop him. Then she frowned at Indra.

“It is a proper ceremony,” Indra said. “I am here to witness it.”

“How many have you witnessed?”

“Two others.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes.

“Indra is required to be here, Clarke,” Lexa said. “But Bellamy was chosen.”

“We can’t—We’re best friends,” Clarke said.

“Yes. You are. That is why he is a threat to me. That is why he must do this.”

“That’s such a line,” Clarke said. “Fucking aliens.”

“Indeed,” Indra said.

“We are not the ones who came here in spacecraft,” Lexa said.

“Whatever.” Clarke took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” If it was going to happen, she was going to take command of it.

“What?” Bellamy asked.

“I’m attracted to you, Bellamy. And I know you’re attracted to me,” Clarke said.

“You’re telling me this in front of your girlfriend.”

Lexa laughed.

“She’s enjoying this. We might as well, too,” Clarke said.

“The peace between our clans—“ Indra said.

Three hands rose to shush her.

Clarke turned to Lexa, who at last removed her shirt. She was naked from the waist up, un-shy about revealing herself to Bellamy or Indra. She sprawled onto the bed like a queen. Pillows propped her into an appropriately regal, half-sitting position where she could take in the view.

“You cannot be this sexually liberated,” Clarke said.

“Except for what we have shared, I have not been with anyone since Costia,” Lexa said. 

There was so much honesty and sadness in her gaze as she met Clarke’s eyes that Clarke, with a knife wrenching in her heart, figured out the truth. 

Intertribal marriages did matter.

Lexa said quickly, “The ritual is necessary, Clarke.”

“But I’m the extraneous one,” Clarke said.

“So, wait. I have to—“ Bellamy said, stuttering, but catching on. “Uh. With Lexa?”

Lexa nodded but did not turn to him. She kept her eyes on Clarke.

“What’s with the glass cock?” Clarke said.

“You are the _skaiheda_ ,” Lexa said.

“It is true. There is the reality of the ritual and the perception of the ritual. Both must be maintained,” Indra said.

Clarke tilted her head at Lexa.

“We will do the strange things that you require, Clarke,” Lexa said.

“I’m going to make a list.” 

Lexa unraveled her skirt, letting the fabric fall to the side. Clarke swallowed. 

“Bellamy, Seken of the Sky People, undress Clarke.”

“It’s just Bellamy, okay?” Bellamy sighed and stood behind Clarke. He settled his hands on her hips, where her trousers met bare skin.

“Clarke,” he whispered against her hair.

“Bellamy,” she answered. An affirmation. She trusted him with her life. She trusted him with everything. 

He pulled her trousers down, kneeling at he went. She stepped out of them. His hand was warm where he held her calf. Supporting her. Then he was behind her again, kissing her shoulder as his hands slid down her back. 

She knelt on the bed, and Lexa’s legs opened to welcome her, and Bellamy’s hand was there to steady her. 

“Lexa,” Clarke purred. She kissed Lexa’s stomach, planting damp rings on her. Nuzzling closer to her center, but teasing. Hesitant.

“Do not pretend to be a blushing maiden,” Indra said.

Clarke flushed, but kissed Lexa’s stomach, and then lower. Indra was right. Clarke knew this place. Lexa would make a sound—yes, that one—when Clarke’s tongue stroked, flat and hard. She would sigh when Clarke nipped her inner thigh, growl when the touch against wet flesh was mere breath. 

Bellamy’s hands had stilled at Indra’s words, but they now started to wander again, painting circles. It felt good. Lexa, too, was encouraging. Clarke could taste her readiness and her own arousal responded. Despite the strangeness of the glass cock, Clarke knew how to give pleasure to Lexa. She crawled up for a kiss. 

Lexa accepted her kisses, and reached between them for the cock. “We must, Clarke.”

“Okay.”

She let Lexa and Bellamy guide her inside, until the pressure and heat at her own core matched what she’d tasted. She began to move.

Lexa’s knees were bent, one leg in the air, pushing against Clarke. Clarke had to crouch and it for leverage. For slipping inside her again and again.

“More.”

Bellamy knelt on the bed behind Clarke. He was hard, but merely shifted her hips, rebalancing her so that she could fuck more easily. She groaned as that also meant better contact with her clit. She ached for Lexa, knew Lexa longed for her, that this was how it always was between them, two people coming together and making something greater.

“Bellamy,” she gasped. “You can—“

“Angle’s terrible,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“At least get naked,” she said.

 _I want to feel you, too_.

He left her. She slowed her movements and bent to kiss Lexa. Lexa bit into her lower lip, and then whispered, “I need you.” 

“I’m here.”

“Come closer.”

Clarke let herself fall into Lexa. Bellamy was behind her again, guiding. They were all bare flesh and furs and tent and incense and musk. Clarke breathed in deeply and it the air escape her as keening.

Lexa groaned, seemingly at the sound, and reached between them. She found her clit, circling, the knuckles of her hand touching Clarke, but the glass separated them. Clarke grunted. She pushed deeper, having found her footing. She wanted release. She wanted all this straining to snap, for the air to clear, for the forest night to rush in and chill her sweat. 

“Lexa,” she pleaded.

Lexa knew her own body and almost as soon as her fingers began their caress, the orgasm came through them, into Lexa and Clarke and Bellamy. Lexa clutched Clarke with her free arm, sending her sprawling, collapsing onto her as shuddering jolts shook them both.

Then Bellamy was pulling her off and Lexa was pushing her up. She fell into a sitting position on the bed. Lexa knelt behind her to unbuckle the harness. Bellamy took the glass cock to a pillow Indra indicated. He walked back, his own cock bouncing with the steps.

Clarke rose to meet him, kissing him firmly, knowing she tasted of Lexa. She took him in her hand, squeezing, and then knelt and took him in her mouth. 

“God, Clarke.” 

His pleasure was obvious, but for her it was not enough. 

“I want you.” She stood again, kissing a path up his body the way she had kissed down Lexa’s. She found his lips again, and then turned him and pushed him to the bed.

He fell beside Lexa, who was watching with detached interest.

Clarke shared a smile with her, and then knelt over Bellamy. She was more than ready and she sank easily onto him. He filled her and she thought of filling Lexa. Had it been like this? Bellamy cupped her breasts, lightly squeezing. He smiled at her. She rocked on him, lifting only so she could feel the plunge again. He was hard and solid and honest, her Bellamy, and her eyes burned with tears for those she’d lost, and in gratitude for not losing him.

She indulged her feelings, for once, allowed herself to be caught between angst and joy. In Bellamy’s face she saw the same struggle, the same half-smile of grief. She sank to kiss him, seeking and accepting. He hugged her with strong arms.

She nibbled his ear, and then whispered, “The mission.”

“You are so frustrating, Clarke,” he said. His eyes fluttered closed. But his hands moved to her hips, surrendering to her departure.

Released, aching, she left the bed. “All yours,” she said.

***

Bellamy twisted where he was. Lexa was so near. He reached for her. Clarke reached out to guide him, as Lexa had guided her.

Lexa’s eyes went to Clarke. There was pain in Lexa’s gaze. Not the haunted look they all shared. 

Something physical. 

Clarke took Lexa’s hand and squeezed.

“Oh, no,” Bellamy said, kneeling back.

Lexa’s gaze went to his. “You must.”

“Not if you don’t want it,” Bellamy said. He would never. Not even if Clarke put a gun to his head. She looked like she wanted to. He thought of Raven and how _wrong_ that had been. Despite him wanting it as much as her. Even though leading people was lonely. 

This was worse.

Only Clarke’s grip on his cock kept him hard. Her other hand stayed linked with Lexa’s, bringing them together. Bellamy felt a buzzing, hot energy flowing around them. Itching.

“Bellamy,” Clarke said. “We need to do this. Come on. It’s better than killing people.”

He wasn’t so sure. He closed his eyes and let Clarke guide him again to Lexa. He entered with a swift thrust. He hoped to get it over with. Lexa was wet and welcoming, thanks to Clarke, and it was such a relief he nearly moaned.

“I’m sorry, Lexa,” he said.

She did not speak.

 _I’m sorry, Costia_. He was filled with anguish for all the women Lexa had loved. 

For all the women Clarke would love. 

“Bellamy,” Lexa said softly.

He opened his eyes and she watched him. His mouth was dry. His hips were moving.

“Kiss me,” she said.

“Are you sure?” 

Her expression answered for her, and he braced himself on his hands as he covered her, careful not to crush her, and let his lips meet hers. She nipped at him, kissed the corners of his mouth, nuzzled against his lips. But she did not invite him in. 

She grasped his sides, though, and they began to move together. 

Clarke got to her feet and disappeared from view. Bellamy felt her a moment later as she touched his ass. Her fingers were cold and—sticky? She’d gotten ointment from somewhere, and now it was on her fingers, and her finger—

“Shit,” he panted as Clarke’s finger pushed into his asshole. It was almost painless, but now it was in there and he couldn’t get it out. The efforts he made to expel it only drove her in deeper. 

At least it was just Clarke’s finger and not the damn glass cock. He shivered.

He found a pace between Lexa and Clarke. Clarke had completed their trigonometry. His ass began to feel warm and his cock began to feel grateful. More taut now.

“This is not exactly how she feels,” Clarke said, her voice calm and distant. “It’s an approximation.”

He looked down at Lexa. She offered pursed lips not completely hiding a satisfied expression. As if she were in command of everything. He and Clarke moved at her will. 

He was getting closer, finally. His arms strained to hold him. He nearly collapsed when Lexa grasped his cock. Clarke wrapped herself around his back and covered Lexa’s fingers. 

He had to do this. It was better than killing, better than hating. He was part of an ancient ritual to drive back the darkness. To bring light, and maybe life, and definitely love to Earth. 

Clarke’s nipples pressed into his back. Lexa’s fingers caressed him.

He came, shuddering. He fell down onto his elbows, letting Lexa’s lips find his temple, sore and spent as Clarke left him. He rolled over onto his back. 

Indra— _Shit, was she still here?_ —walked over with a warm, damp cloth and washed him. He breathed heavily, looking up at the ceiling, not looking at _them_. 

Clarke, somehow still agile in all of this, leaned to kiss him. He cupped her head, letting the kiss linger until all he could taste was her. She patted his chest as she straightened.

“Thank you, Bellamy,” Lexa said.

He wasn’t ready to hear those words. He shut his eyes.

Clarke appeared on the bed—had she leapt?—between them, wriggling and supple and exhaling a sigh of contentment.

“Feel like a stud?” Clarke asked. Her hand lazily roamed his stomach.

“In every way, I think,” he said. He winked at her.

“He is not objectionable,” Lexa murmured. “For Skaikru.”

Bellamy rolled over onto his side, facing them. Lexa’s eyes were closed. Only her bare shoulder touched Clarke, but that seemed to be enough. 

“Ahem,” he said.

Lexa’s eyes opened.

Clarke frowned at him.

“Clarke. Did you have some magical orgasm that we both missed?”

“Yes, Clarke,” Lexa said.

Clarke’s gaze darted between them. “I just thought—“

Even Indra snorted.

“This is not the time to be self-sacrificing,” Bellamy said. 

Now that he’d been relieved of that burden, he felt light. He felt that life was easy. He felt that Lexa’s hand reaching for his and pulling it down between Clarke’s legs was perfectly natural.

He and Lexa shared a smile, and then each kissed the nearest breast. 

Bellamy pressed the hard nipple with his tongue, toying and teasing the way his fingers played farther down. Clarke squirmed. It didn’t matter if it was Lexa’s doing or his. Clarke held onto both of them, muttering something about unfairness. 

Lexa’s hand bumped into him, and then beneath, to enter Clarke. He felt Clarke tremble in response. His fingers matched Lexa’s rhythm. His ears ignored Clarke’s pleas. His heart ignored Clarke’s tears. 

And his own. He didn’t look at Lexa, but made love with her, like this was the way it should be.

Clarke’s cry ripped through him. She stilled utterly as Lexa and Bellamy kept moving, giving her more than she could take, pouring themselves into her to buoy her against the seaquakes that waited outside the tent.

Clarke came again, howling, shaking, and then closing her legs to curl into herself. “Stop,” she said.

Bellamy waited with Lexa. Neither of them spoke.

Clarke let out a choked sob, and then a laugh. 

They all breathed together.

“I had no idea this was possible. That the world could be like this,” Clarke said.

“Here is proof,” Lexa said.

Clarke unwrapped herself, stretched, and then glanced at Indra. Indra brought them a canteen of water. 

Clarke took it first and drank greedily.

Lexa nodded at Indra.

Indra went to the tent flap. “You have until dawn.”

She exited. He could hear her barking words in Trigedasleng. Cheers sounded. Then drums.

“Shit,” Clarke said. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Good. We shouldn’t,” Bellamy said.

Lexa nodded. “May the troubadours praise it for centuries.”

“As long as the peace lasts,” Clarke said. She looked at each of them. 

Bellamy felt the response radiating from his chest. He took Lexa’s hand. “It will.”

The three of them would hold together, and the world with them.


End file.
